Man to Man
by dharmamonkey
Summary: During a guys' night out, Max tells Booth what he really thought of the agent when he first met his daughter's FBI partner. In response to a prompt by luverofthings.


**Man to Man**

* * *

**By:** dharmamonkey  
**Rating:** T  
**Disclaimer:** _I don't own Bones. I am, however, interested in renting Booth. A five-hour minimum would apply._

* * *

**A/N: **_Someone (_**luverofthings**_) posted a prompt on Bonesology ("Max thanking Booth for giving his daughter everything he ever wanted for her") & it tugged at something in the monkeybrain. This is the result._

* * *

It was two weeks before Christmas, and even in the loud, boisterous sports bar, the signs of the holiday season were near at hand: red and silver tinsel and strings of twinkling multi-colored lights around the bar's structural pillars and crown-molded ceiling.

Booth had always liked The Pour House. The bar, tucked in the southeast part of the Capitol Hill district along Pennsylvania Avenue between the Library of Congress and Seward Square, catered to the local community of Pittsburgh ex-pats and the walls were covered with Steelers, Pirates and Penguins memorabilia. Admittedly, the food wasn't great, but the beer was cheap and, like any self-respecting sports bar, they had a satellite package, so he always knew he could come there with the guys from the bullpen to catch a Pittsburgh or Philadelphia game.

This time, though, he wasn't there with any of the guys from the Hoover. He sat at the bar, rocking his glass of Yuengling back and forth on the coaster as he watched the Philadelphia Flyers squander yet another power play as their opponent, the reigning Stanley Cup champion Chicago Blackhawks, returned to full strength and added another skater to the ice just as the puck was passing back into Philadelphia territory.

"It's a rebuilding year," he turned and told his father-in-law.

Max Keenan snorted a laugh and quirked a bushy blond eyebrow. "You said that last year, son," he told him as he brought his own pint glass to his lips and took a sip of Shock Top, which he generally didn't order but was on a 2-for-1 special that night.

Booth rolled his eyes, more at his Flyers and less at Max, then tipped his glass back and drained it in two healthy swallows as the game cut out for a commercial break, which suddenly assaulted them with a loud and very obnoxious ad for a Ford dealership in Alexandria.

"Don't remind me, okay?" he grumbled as he waved to the bartender for another beer. The dark-eyed agent looked up and scowled at the TV mounted high above the bar in front of them as a brightly-blazered man in his late-fifties hollered like a carnival crier about the _"brand new 2014 Ford Escape." _He slid his empty glass to the back of the dark, well-burnished bar just as the bartender delivered a fresh one brimming with Pennsylvania-brewed goodness. He took a sip, turned to Max and was about ready to make a comment about the Flyers' goalie troubles when his phone's screen lit up and the handset buzzed twice. With a puzzled grunt, he set down his beer and picked up the phone.

_Appears that I will be stuck here longer than I expected, _the text message read. _We encountered an issue with one of the pieces of X-ray equipment that took us an hour to resolve, and we still need to do a preliminary osteological examination on the remains before we conclude for the night._

The scowl on Booth's face melted away as he smiled, amused that after all these years, Brennan had failed to learn—or, more likely, refused to use—the terse lingo of textspeak.

_OK, _he typed back. _I'm at Pour House w/Max. Game in mid 2nd period. Do I need to go get C from A&H's?_

He sensed Max looking over his shoulder as he held the handset, waiting for her reply, and he turned to him and shot him a look. The older man raised his brows and grinned sheepishly, then shrugged and turned his focus back to the TV above them which had finally returned to the game broadcast.

_No, _came Brennan's response. _Ange said she'd gladly keep her overnight and bring her directly to daycare with Michael Vincent in the morning. I thought a night alone at the house without a toddler would be a rather pleasant change of pace that we could make good use of somehow. We do have some unfinished business to take care of from this morning._

Booth's cheeks flushed as he read the wordy message and immediately thought of the delicious wake-up call he was enjoying that morning in the minutes after the alarm went off. He made a fist as he thought of how he'd fisted the sheets as she worked him over the way he loved so much, and how close he was to Nirvana when the moment and the magic were abruptly shattered by the ringing of his phone on the nightstand table.

_Oooh good idea, _he thumbed back then set the phone face-down on the bar. He cleared his throat and glanced up at the TV, squirming a little in his seat as he shook off the shiver that crackled up from the base of his spine and took a cautionary sip of his very full beer, wondering as he did if the tips of his ears looked as red as they felt.

"I really thought I was going to hate you," Max said, setting his beer down with a clank as he watched the Blackhawks center sweep in a wide arc around the back of the Flyers net. As soon as the player flicked a pass to a winger waiting in front of the goal, he turned his head to observe his daughter's husband. Booth's eyes had narrowed but seemed focused on the screen as he gritted his teeth and hissed when the puck slipped underneath the lower edge of the Flyers goalie's leg pad.

"Fuck." Booth shook his head and sighed, then turned to Max with a confused look on his face. "Wait, whut?" he coughed, unsure if he had heard correctly.

Max laughed, cocked his head to the side and smirked, then said, "When I first found out that Tempe was working with the FBI, I thought, 'oh shit.' I read a newspaper article about the two of you solving a case involving a murdered Congressional intern and—"

"Cleo Eller," Booth said absently, remembering the afternoon he and Brennan went to the speak to the victim's parents and tell them that the skeletal remains of their long-missing daughter had been found wrapped in chicken wire at the bottom of a retention pond at Arlington National Cemetery.

Crossing his arms and leaning over the bar, the older man's brow furrowed as he blinked away a memory of his own. "I'd been watching her for a few years," he said. "From a distance, you know."

Booth arched an eyebrow as he swung his bar stool around and slid his beer along the bar, never losing contact with the glass as he brought his warm brown eyes up to meet Max's cool blue ones. "You were stalking your daughter?" he asked, a faint laughter on the edge of his voice.

The old man rolled his eyes and parted his lips in a crooked smile not unlike the one Booth had long recognized as a tell when his partner was toying with mischief. "You make it sound like a bad thing," he chuckled. He paused, then his eyes hardened as his face took on a more serious mien. "I tracked her down when she was in college, but I always kept my distance. I was afraid, I guess—afraid that me coming back into her life after all those years would be worse for her than just letting her be—so I kept my distance and just watched. Kept an eye on her. I was so proud of her, it burned me up not to be able to tell her that, you know." He fell silent again and swiped his thumb up the sweaty side of his beer glass.

Smiling despite the ache in his heart as he remembered the anguish Brennan felt at being abandoned by her parents in her mid-teens, Booth heard the love in the liquid timbre of Max's voice.

"I wasn't sure how to do it," Max said wistfully. "I wanted to make contact, but I was afraid. Afraid of upsetting the apple-cart for her, right? So I was torn." He shook his head and snorted out a sardonic laugh. "And then _you_ showed up," he told him, narrowing one blue eye as he gave the agent a pointed look. "Here I was a fugitive with both state and federal warrants out for my arrest, and my daughter's all of a sudden hanging out with an FBI agent all the damn time. A cop was one thing, but a _feeb? _I was like, 'Great—for Christ's sake, could it get any better?' So I was sure I wouldn't like you. I didn't _want_ to like you. I really didn't."

Booth rolled his lips together as he bit back a smile, but didn't say anything, briefly glancing up at the TV as the two teams emptied the ice at the end of the second period and disappeared down their respective tunnels at the United Center on the way to their locker rooms.

"I knew, though," Max continued. "You know, the first time I met you, when we all sat in her office—"

"When you were dressed up in a priest's collar," Booth said with a grin.

Max flashed his brows and gave a tiny shrug. "I knew by the way you followed her into that office...and by the way you looked at her...that you cared for her," he said. "That she was important to you." He remembered standing next to his son's truck at St. Augustine's Seminary as the two were prepared to flee when her FBI partner drove up in a yellow AMC Gremlin. He recalled how Booth jumped out of the car and the intensity in his eyes as he saw Brennan hunched over the bench to which Max had handcuffed her.

Booth's eyes met Max's as they shared the solemnity of a shared memory. "I remember," Booth said, his voice low and even. "You told me to take care of her."

Max felt the tingle of emotion deep in his sinuses as he bit his lip and nodded. "And you _did_," he said. "You know, I always tried to protect her, to take care of her, like a father should, but in the end, I did a lousy job of it."

"No, look," Booth said. "You did the best—"

"Stop." Max's hand went up. "Don't make excuses for me, kid," he said. "Really. I've accepted what I did and, even if I'd make different decisions now than I did then, I can't unring the bell. Tempe's forgiven me for what I did, and her forgiveness has helped me forgive myself."

Booth swallowed thickly and rolled his wedding band around his finger with the tip of his thumb as he heard the tinge of regret in the other man's voice. "Max, I—"

"Look, Booth—I didn't come here to talk about that," he said with a hint of defensiveness that he made him wince a little at hearing as his words echoed between them. "I just...well, I want you to know what I'm glad Tempe has you and, well..." Max sighed and smiled. "Thanks for being there for her, and making her happy." His pale blue eyes shimmered under the dim light of the bar. "It's all I ever wanted for her."

A wide, toothy grin spread across Booth's face as he reached for his beer. He picked up his glass but hesitated before bringing it to his lips. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making her happy," he said. "You can count on it."

* * *

**A/N:** _This came to me this morning while driving to work. I hope you liked it._

**Conspicuous and shameless plug for other projects:** _Sorry, I simply must. **Dharmasera** readers who've been following our crossover series, we've posted a new scene in our "Compendium of Lost Moments" collection (guest starring Brennan and Angel's old acquaintance, Spike), and a new chapter of "Hand to Hand" is in the works. The new Compendium piece is under my profile. Stay tuned for the new chapter of "Hand to Hand." There might be a scene set in the birthing room at the hospital with new daddy Angel/Booth and new mama Brennan. Maybe. *coy look* Daddy Booth. Yup. Getting all sweet on his newborn baby girl. That stuff we didn't see enough of in canon? Yeah. *ahem*_

_And for those of you who haven't checked out our crossover series (keeping in mind that 3/4 of the people reading it claim to hate crossovers and swear ours is the only one they've ever liked), if you like Angel and want to see what might have happened if Angelus/Angel and Temperance Brennan existed in the same universe, go to _**Lesera128**_'s profile and start with "Toe to Toe," "Barging in" and "Making Him Beg" (where we pair Brennan with Angelus in a seriously hot-hot-hot way). We think you'll like it. _

_So, go:_** READ! **

_/end shameless plug :-)_


End file.
